


Billable Hours

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sherlock Secret Santa, Teenlock, dance club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets and flirts with a beautiful young man in a club, a week before he is supposed to leave for a two year deployment. Things rapidly escalate; saliva, semen, and hurtful words are exchanged.</p>
<p>Originally posted on my tumblr for the Sherlock Secret Santa</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billable Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr for the Sherlock Secret Santa

“You look as bored as I feel.” A young man called over the annoying thumping bass of the music playing in the club.

Sherlock Holmes turned to dismiss him, politely telling him he wasn’t interested in conversation.

It was a mistake. He turned, and was absorbed by dark blue eyes. So dark, they seemed almost black. Sherlock’s gaze ticked over him, reading everything he could in that brief moment.

Small but strong, capable hands, ridged callouses on each finger; uses them often. His hair, short and unstyled, with only the smallest amount if product; confident in his appearance, but not trying to show off. A wide, easy smile; knows he’s attractive, but doesn’t rely on it. “On leave for long, are you?” Sherlock asked, sipping his soda.

The man started, and looked back over his shoulder. “How… No. Not really, it ends in a week, actually. Did one of my mates talk to you? Christ, I don’t need a bloody wingman.” The blond shuffled in spot, running his hand over his hair.

“No, of course not. It’s written all over you.” Flicking his long fingers out with each point, Sherlock quickly listed the many obvious signs of the man’s military service. By the time he reached the small regiment pin on the man’s jacket, he was smirking playfully.

“Jesus… That was… Wow, that was amazing.” The soldier sat on the stool next to Sherlock, turning slightly. His knee brushed up against his in what might have been an accident. Might have been, but wasn’t. “Can I get you a drink?”

Lifting his glass of soda with lime, Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t drink when I’m working.”

“Oh. Oh, right. Of course. Sorry.”

Sherlock drained the rest of his drink like it was a harsh shot of whiskey. “I wouldn’t say no to a dance, though.”

“I’m John!” The soldier bellowed, fighting to be heard over the music.

Sherlock put his finger to his lips, and took John by the hips. “Too loud!” Their height difference meant Sherlock had to slide and rock his hips down to slot them together. John’s arms went over his head, and beautiful blue eyes drifted shut. The song was fast, too fast to catch each beat, so they ended up rocking together at half speed from everyone else. Together, they looked blissed out and languid.

Sherlock wasn’t the least surprised when John’s lips found his throat.

Short, strong fingers dug into his thick hair, guiding him in closer. Sherlock had never danced with anyone so short. It was fascinating, being tugged and pushed into position by someone that could tuck their head under his chin. John was already lying thick and hard against his thigh. He caught and held the young soldier’s gaze before walking his hand down his chest and belly.

Shaking his head, John grabbed him by the wrist. He lifted the hand back up, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm. His long tongue peeked out to lick a circle, grinning. “Not here,” he mouthed, and drew Sherlock back out of the crowd.

“What’s your name?”

“Sher… I’m Sherlock. And don’t worry, I’m nineteen.” He allowed himself to be pressed back to the cold tiles of the mens room wall. His hands already fumbled to open his belt. “S-stupid buckle.” He laughed weakly before popping it open.

From the grunts and moans from one of the stalls, they aren’t the only ones with this idea. The pair shared a glance, and started to giggle.

“You’re so beautiful. Sorry, you must hear that from everyone.” John ran his palms from Sherlock’s hips, up over his belly, before curling on his shoulders to pull him in for another kiss.

“Not so often I don’t like hearing it.” Sherlock grinned triumphantly when he managed to work the belt off and open his jeans. “Do you have any change for the machine?”

“The…? Oh, fuck, yeah. Just a second.” John searched his pockets from some coins before walking awkwardly over to the condom dispenser.

“There’s a trick to it.” Sherlock explained. He was pressed to John’s back, reaching over his shoulder. As soon as John turned the dial, the young man slammed his fist into the metal. A handful of condoms tumbled out. “There, now you’re set for the rest of your leave.” Sherlock plucked one up, and stuffed the rest into the pocket of John’s jeans. Bunching the denim in his hand, he pulled John into one of the stalls, locking it behind them.

At the other end of the row, their companions seemed to be working their way to a vocal finish.

Sherlock crouched, not wanting to rest his knees on the floor, and tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth. John was thick. Average length, but as big around as the teen’s wrist. Tentatively, he took it in hand, and squeezed. It jumped in his fist as John staggered back onto the stall door.

“I don’t need much of a work over, Sherlock.” John threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, and tucked his chin down to watch. “I would love to see that fucking gorgeous mouth on me, though.”

Sherlock blushed and nodded, rolling the condom onto John. When it was secure, he licked the tip firmly.

“Ohh… _Christ_ Sherlock, you’re beautiful. Can you put your mouth on it?” The soldier’s free hand slid up the wall of the cubicle, grabbing the top to keep himself steady. “Fuck!” His head slammed back when Sherlock sucked him in.

“John, I’m sorry, but my jaw is getting sore.” Sherlock explained after several minutes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at the older man. “You’re a bit thicker than I’m used to. I can finish you with my hands, if you like. Or-or you can… I can let you… Do you want to f-”

With a soft smile, John cut him off, pressing his thumb against his lips. “You’re amazing. Really. Come up here.” He gently tugged Sherlock’s curls, guiding him up. “We’ll do this together.”

On the side of the stall, an assistance bar was bolted into place. John pushed Sherlock’s jeans and pants down until he could free one of his legs. Picking him up, he braced him on the bar. “Wrap your legs around me, love. Yes, perfect.” He kept one hand ticked under Sherlock’s thigh to hold him up. The other slipped down between their chests to stroke them in tandem.

“J-john… That feels very good. May I kiss you?”

Huffing out a short laugh, John crushed their lips together. Sherlock whimpered, and tightened his thighs. His hand joined John’s, pumping the bases of their cocks, while John focused on the heads.

“Come for me, love. I’m getting close. I want you to come too. P-please, Sherlock.”

The young man bit his lip, hard, and dropped his forehead to John’s shoulder to watch. “Soon, John. Very… Oh, god. _Now!_ I’m coming!” Bucking up, Sherlock tumbled off the bar, only being held up by John’s grip under his legs. He cried out, digging his nails into the other man’s shoulder.

It was watching the look of near shock spread over Sherlock’s face that sent John rushing over the edge after him. Grateful for the condom, John grunted and thrust up into his fist. He staggered back, running into the other wall, shaking the entire row. “Fuck… _fuck,_ Sherlock. I’ve nev- Not with…” He laughed, and scrubbed his face on his upper arm. Untangling Sherlock’s limbs, he helped him back into his jeans before setting him down. “Sorry that was so quick.” Cringing, he pulled the condom off, and tossed it in the toilet. “How much do I owe you? You seriously earned it.”

Sherlock straightened, looking like he had been slapped. “What? Owe… John, what are you…” Eyes going wide, the young man struggled to get his belt buckled again. “You think I’m a _whore?”_ He slammed the stall door open, swiping his hands through the semen he had stained his shirt with. “Fuck you, John.”

“Shit… Sherlock, I’m sorry!” John tucked himself back into his pants, taking care not to zip himself into his jeans as he made chase. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry!”

When he caught up with him, Sherlock was already half way across the dance floor. John dodged writhing couples to jog forward and grab the man by the elbow. “Please, don’t be upset. I’m so sorry.”

Teeth bared, Sherlock yanked his arm free, and shoved John in the chest. “Go to hell.” He turned on his heel and ran from the club.

John found him three blocks later, sitting with his head in his hands, on a bench. “You said you were working.” John murmured, sitting next to him. “I’m an idiot. I had a gorgeous bloke showing an interest in me, I thought it was too good. Then you said that you were working. I figured that was the score.”

“I _was_ working. I was conducting an investigation. I…” He drew back and punched John in the shoulder, where he had scratched him. “I have never done something like that before. I would have let you fuck me, and now I know it would have just been what was ‘expected’ of me.” He sneered. “How much was I worth? Twenty quid? Thirty?”

“Sherlock, please listen to me. I look for things that could go wrong. I try to find the things that are going to blow up in my face.” John rubbed his shoulder with a wry smirk. “So when you seemed to want me, I couldn’t help but think that the only reason would be because I was paying you. I’m going to just keep apologising like a tit.” He leaned back on the bench. “Want to hit me again?”

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed, but kept his hands in his lap.

“I should just go. I’m sorry for everything. Goodbye, Sherlock.” John scrubbed his hands on his jeans and stood to leave.

Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging his legs. He refused to watch John walk away.

“Fuck it.”

Sherlock looked up to see John marching toward him from across the street. “I’m leaving for two years in a week. I could be killed. I’m not leaving things this way.” The soldier grabbed Sherlock by the face, and kissed him gently on the forehead, the eyes, and the cheeks. He hesitated before pressing a chaste, but deep kiss to his lips. “I may have been mistaken about why, but you still came with me into that stall. Maybe that’s nothing. Maybe you were just hoping to get laid. But maybe it wasn’t. What there was something here?” He crouched down, looking up at the young man. “Will you give me a week? Just to find out?”

Sherlock wiped his nose on his sleeve, chewing on his lip. He straightened his legs out, gripping the bench tightly. “John, that’s ridiculous. Do you really believe that? Do you think two people can make a connection that strong, that quickly? Is it even possible?”

John took a long pale hand in his own, bringing it to his lips. “Yes, it is. I’m going to be gone in a week. Surely you can spare a week of your time.” He kissed each of Sherlock’s fingertips. “So… What do you say?”


End file.
